The Servant and the Master
by TwistedTounges
Summary: Sauron observes an Orc esacping Mordor...


Several scores of orcs patrolled the dark, imposing tower that stuck out like a wickedly sharp sword from the belly of the blackened earth.

It was a hard life for them, with constant squabbles for the less than adequate supplies of food, water and weapons.

The Eye did not care overmuch for the lives of his servants, not that he ignored them. It was, after all, his sickly sweet voice that drove tons upon tons of orcs and trolls onward in their grisly lives.

To his servants, Sauron Gorthaur was still Annatar the gift-giver. His ugly form was the epitome of beauty to them, for in the end, his servants were truly extensions of his gloomy will...

Gloomy. **Yes, **that was something he would have to think upon. Sauron was happy. His mood could almost be described as upbeat. He was after all very nearly successful in his endeavours.

Complete domination of Arda did not seem to him anymore like a distant, vague dream on the dark horizon of Mordor.

But there was one, deep-set ache in his form. Even after so much time, the Dark-Lord's form was not whole and complete and the loss of his ringirked him more than ever.

Not that the ring was out his grasps. He could feel it within him, within Mordor. It was the closeness which settled upon him like an unscratch-able itch. An unquenchable thirst.

So you see, the dark-lord was conflicted. He could not decide whether to be happy or to be gloomy.

_A mournful, celebrating Dark Lord. Oxymoron Indeed._

As for morons, the army of the west had marched upto his gate. If he would have been in the mood, he would have personally invited the heir of Isildur to his tower and then skewer him with a would be fitting.

But for now, he wanted them off his hands. As could be predicted, all of _His Gloominess' _evil will settled upon the rabble from the west, intending to wipe the floor once and for all.

_The ring could not have chosen a better moment to embrace Orodruin._

Mount Doom indeed...

An Unholy tremor shook the very foundations of Mordor. The Eye, somehow let loose a stream of very colourful profanities in the Black speech, which, you will find isn't very difficult at all.

Sauron could feel his essence being ripped apart from the confines of Arda. He had to find a host, and soon.

_The gold band had failed him. __**Again**__. He decide he did not like gold anymore._

A black shadow loomed over the battle-plains, dark and menacing, before the wind blew it away like a child would blow the candles on his birthday cake...

The Dark tower was ripped from its foundations and started to keel over... and as Sauron drew his final breaths here on Arda, his gaze fell on one of his servants.

**An Uruk-hai of Mordor.**

_Probably a part of the patrol on Barad-dur, scrambling for cover from the falling rubble of the dark tower...or what was left of it._

Gorluk snarled.

In fact he snarled a lot. He snarled when drank, ate or when he slept ...which was rare. If not for eating man-flesh, snarling would have been his favourite hobby.

And there was precious little man-flesh to be had. So he snarled.

This was however, a special snarl. The Rabble of Rag-tags, as he like to call the "army" before him, had finally reached the black gate.

There was man-flesh to be had today, it seemed. Maybe if he got lucky he could have some without having to fight over it.

They had been marching for several minutes and the plains of Mordor were yet to empty of its full front lines had already engaged the mannish army. Though a few _Goulug-hai could be spotted._

Man-flesh would probably not be on his menu today. So he snarled. He wasn't even out of the gates yet!

A sudden shock went through all of Mordor. Not just the land, all of Mordor. That included Gorluk.

The whispers egging him on suddenly quieted and his bloodlust dulled to mild throb of distaste for those around him.

For the first time in his life, Gorluk was free to think. And he was confused. All of Mordor came to sudden dazed halt.

The pointy-end of _a Goulug-hai arrow _pierced the skull of the orc beside him. A snaga asshole.

Gorluk turned tail and ran...and so did the rest of Mordor.

Somehow, Gorluk made it out of the stampede with only a few fingers missing, no thanks to a Snaga he had pushed over in his mad run.

He was finally free...and for the first time in his life he felt something else besides hate and lust.

_**fear**_

He made his way over the Dead Marshes. It had been two days since the fall. Two days of confusion and eating raw fish. And struggling to survive another day.

Gorluk was very near to the end of the marshes. He would probably not know what to do when he got out.

.

.

.

A sudden sharp pain pierced his chest and Gorluk doubled over, more from shock than pain. He slowly looked down.

A _Goulug-hai arroy. The barbed kind._

Before he could contemplate the end of his miserable existence, two more embedded themselves just below his shoulder blades...

Gorluk closed his yellow eyes for the last time, much as Sauron had done two days ago...

And promptly choked on his black blood.

**A/N: Just a sudden, fickle muse. Couldn't sleep without putting this down**


End file.
